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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141130">blinded by the sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/didnt/pseuds/didnt'>didnt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, I'll add more tags as time goes on, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mutual Pining, and i took it from there, dream is a damaged rich boy, george is the mysterious prodigy in his class</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:56:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,493</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/didnt/pseuds/didnt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1984 and Dream can't be bothered to stand the test of time, or find a major for that matter. George is a colour-blind painter on financial aid. Everyone's just trying to find their way home by the end of the year, wherever that might be.</p><p>or,</p><p>The 80s Liberal Art School AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. september</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>in the original plan for this it's called "the rules of attraction au (not really)"</p><p>before this begins: some things will probably be out of character or not line up with the real lives/dynamics of the people this is about. i took some creative liberties whilst writing this. also, i am not american. i will use colour instead of color. i apologise. this also means i have no experience with american colleges. i just read books about it sometimes.</p><p>yes my fanfiction set in 1984 took its name from a song released in 2006. oh, on that note the title is taken from painter in your pocket by destroyer. it has nothing to do with the story i just like the song.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was 1984, and Dream couldn’t be bothered to stand the test of time.</p><p>As he stood in the fresh air, surrounded by mountains and the likes, he noted that Vermont always got so cold so quickly. </p><p>It wasn’t his first time attending school in New England, of course not. His parents had shipped him off years prior to some boarding school for boys which was supposed to teach him manners and how to be an upstanding member of society. You’d think after all the effort they’d be shocked when he wanted to attend a school like Snowchester, but they simply accepted it.</p><p>He wasn’t alone, of course. Sapnap was around, kicking the grass as he held a half empty beer bottle. They were hardly into the school year, and yet everyone seemed more tired than they had the year prior.</p><p>Fall settled in early in these colder states, when you were stuck up North. When you were out in the cold you began to forget what summer looked like, especially those humid, almost torturous months that Dream had just spent down in Florida. Now he was a world away, but he didn’t feel it yet, funny that. He would, though. He always did</p><p>The ground crunched under his feet due to the frost beginning to set in there, and everything looked dead already. In fact, this area of Vermont, right next to the mountains, seemed to be stuck in a permanent fall, or winter when the time came. He thought about writing to someone back home, and then weighed the pros and cons of that. He took another drink.</p><p>Everyone else had stuff to do tonight. Wilbur had a new roommate moving in; they’d decided to room the two British kids together he’d been told, and Wilbur’s last roommate dropped out of school for unknown reasons. The most popular theories were that he got a screenplay picked up by a major studio, he had a kid, or he had a complete and utter mental breakdown before running off to the surrounding woods.</p><p>And as such, their little group was silent for the time being as Sapnap returned to Dream’s side, kicking lightly at the rocks gathered there at the End of the World, or, as it was rarely known, the end of campus.</p><p>Dream noted that his arm hurt, remnants of a years old mistake haunting him as the weather got colder. He wondered if he still had scars but he was always far too afraid to look.</p><p>“God, this is lame,” Sapnap began, scoffing into the wind. It was quiet, and peaceful, and maybe things were supposed to be like that this year. “This time last year we would be actually doing something. But now everyone else has studies and obligations, and I drew the short straw and ended up stuck with you.”</p><p>Dream laughed at his friend's frustration, “You could always tell people ahead of time. Not everyone lives in the same room as you,” He pointed out, “Besides, there’s more schoolwork-”</p><p>“Dude,” Sapnap interrupted, as he shoved at Dream’s shoulder, “We go to Snowchester. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do work that isn’t, like, interpretive dance. Or a painting that someone has pissed on.”</p><p>That was, very honestly, rooted in truth. The piss painting was a mildly offensive piece displayed in the dorm room corridor for about a week. Social experiment, said the kid who made it, refusing to take his sunglasses off when he explained himself. It was very quickly forgotten by a lot of the artsier students, but not by the Sapnap-Dream dorm room</p><p>“Not everyone is majoring in sculpting,” Dream retorted.</p><p>“Not everyone has a major, apparently.”</p><p> </p><p>It was Dream’s turn to shove back, lightly pushing at the heavy coat Sapnap was wearing despite it only being September. </p><p>“I’ve already told you,” Dream took another sip of his drink, which remained to be cold in his hands because of the slowly dropping temperature, “I’m still working that stuff out.”</p><p>“You’ve been working that stuff out for over a year now,” Sapnap shook his head, “Come on, have your parents not forced you into figuring out what the fuck you’re doing yet? No getting cut off from the family fortune?” Dream only shook his head at the question, pausing before he attempted to elaborate.</p><p>“No, I think they’re just, like, happy I’m doing something at least. Also that I’m not around bugging them,” He admitted, dropping the bottle onto the ground when he was done with it and watching it smash against the rocks, shattering, before shoving his hands into his pockets. They had grown red and cold in the cold autumn air, fingers tinging purple. </p><p>Sapnap did the same, throwing his down next to Dream’s, “You can’t be bothering them. Have you ever spent a single year living at home?” He asked and Dream shrugged. “I swear I’ve had to live with you for longer than they have.”</p><p>The memories of the sun-drenched state were still familiar to him, those summers and other holidays spent lounging around, trying to keep to himself. He knew it was home, it always had been, but sometimes within the walls of that large, pristine house, he found himself feeling like some kind of guest or visitor. And so he wandered.</p><p>But here, in the New England cold, he felt as if he was retracing the steps of the places he had walked his entire life. This year was going to work out if he had to force it to happen.</p><p>“Do you know anyone if we’re able to get drinks for the Pre-Saturday Night party?” Dream asked, to change the subject, “I know you know a couple of seniors, so you’d probably know if they’re bothering to attend this year. It’s fucked up we can’t buy it ourselves anymore.”</p><p>“Then fucking vote or something,” Sapnap shook his head at Dream, kicking his feet against the stone that rested below it, “I dunno. I think they probably will. They do most years.”</p><p>“I couldn’t vote in the last election, dickwad. It’s not my fault,” Dream rolled his eyes as the two of them stood in that empty field and watched as it got dark. They were getting older, even though they were supposedly at their prime.</p><p>All that was there tonight was the field, and Dream began to wonder what there was here for him in this school. He had friends, and he had things to do, and classes to take. Yet, here he was bored out of his mind. Sometimes the solitude got boring and he just wanted to turn on MTV or something, allow his brain to grow dull.</p><p>Yet here he was.</p><p>“We should head.” Sapnap broke the silence, “It’s going to get colder, and I’m not even slightly drunk enough to handle that tonight.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to spark any kind of warmth, before giving up and shoving them into his jacket pockets. “Plus, you have class early tomorrow. The professors will think you’re a dick if you’re late.”</p><p>Dream snorted, but began to walk in the direction of the house they roomed in, “No, I think you’ll find that they’d love me. Going at my own pace, distinct for the rest. A real free thinker.” </p><p>They began the relatively short stride back to the houses. Someone went missing in the woods surrounding them once. He wondered if they could do the same, “Oh yeah? Why don’t you let me in on all those free thoughts you’re having. I’m truly fascinated.” </p><p>“Oh bite me,” Dream almost shouted, but there was no real heat to his voice, and he broke out into a laugh anyway. “You just don’t understand my genius yet. That’s what everyone will call me when I’m done with this place.”</p><p>“No thanks,” Sapnap chuckled as he walked arm to arm with Dream, “I’ll believe it when I see it, genius.”</p><p>Dream kept on laughing, and began to wish that he’d brought a warmer coat with him this year.</p><p> </p><p>It was early in the morning- maybe not that early- and Dream was wandering from building to building as he quickly finished his breakfast. He then began rushing over to Tishman for a lecture on media and culture. How exactly he had ended up in this class, he wasn’t sure, but he thought it would be easy enough to watch a movie, or to sit up the back and zone out.</p><p>Maybe majoring in Film wouldn’t be that bad, he thought to himself as he briskly paced across the grass. Snowchester was a weird looking school at times, the different styles of buildings clash, and there was all this space between them. Sometimes it looked like a suburb, sometimes it looked like a Gulag. Sometimes it looked a lot like home.</p><p>The leaves had quickly changed to bright autumn tones, the oranges and yellows complimenting the majestic Vermont landscape. Dream had been seeing it for years, yet somehow noticing it when he had grown up around some bizarre eternal summer meant that it still felt special, that he’d still point out every fallen leaf to those that would hear him.</p><p>Dream did manage to make it to his class in time, sitting up the back and drifting in and out of focus as he tried to pay attention to the grainy film playing on the screen. He couldn’t quite pay full attention as he couldn’t quite understand how exactly something like this related whatsoever to gender, or politics or anything else. Maybe scratch Film Studies off the list of potential degrees, then.</p><p>However, as he sat in the Tishman building surrounded by all those students, analysing the film and doing the classwork as intended, he couldn’t help feel that same type of out of place he had felt back in his home state, or at boarding school.</p><p>That, in a way, was how Dream managed to spend a whole lecture having a rather tame identity crisis. Well, as tame as identity crises can be, he supposed.</p><p>It wasn’t until the lights were turned back on, and the surrounding students began to put away their notebooks, that Dream was jostled back into reality, blinking slightly to adjust to the new brightness.</p><p>As he stumbled out of that class and into the cool afternoon air, he glanced around. He had a class later, something to do with drawing, but he supposed he could fit a nap or something in whilst he was waiting. He knew for sure that Sapnap wouldn’t be back at their room, because he had basically memorised his entire schedule. It came in handy.</p><p>The old colonial buildings that surrounded him, neat and identical, went on and on as he made his way back to the dorm, as repetitive as each and every day spent in this academic experience. </p><p>When he got back to the dorm, he took note of the words scribbled onto the boards on each door. There was a party outside one of the houses on Friday, he would probably go. When he got to his own door, he paused to read something someone had hastily scribbled onto there, </p><p>YOUR MOM CALLED.</p><p>He didn’t recognise the writing. He guessed it was for Sapnap.</p><p>He stepped into his room before collapsing onto the bed with a sigh. He was somehow exhausted despite not really doing anything, probably just from sitting in the dark for a couple of hours. He checked his watch and he definitely had time before his next class, but he wasn’t sure if he could actually sleep. </p><p>His room was littered with the usual decorations, ironic posters and newspaper clippings. Whatever he thought looked cool.</p><p>He’d been in a girls room last year and she’d practically papered the wall with magazine pages about UFOs, and completed the room off with a giant stuffed alien in the corner. She was the daughter of some senator in a state that Dream didn’t actually remember. There was a Lord here last year and he would’ve probably found it funny to learn that if he wasn’t trying to get on the guy’s good side, and if he weren’t drunk enough that it didn’t shock him anymore.</p><p>He shouldn’t be surprised, because Snowchester was so fucking expensive. The financial aid kids stood out like sore thumbs, nervous and unsure around their richer peers. Some lied, and some just accepted it and went to work in the archives or in the video cave, which Dream was going to have to start frequenting now because of that media class. And he would probably have to start going to a lot of other places if he’s going to be taking a life drawing class.</p><p>He had initially taken the class because he knew he would be able to see dicks. He was generally excited to draw dicks and get graded on it. It wasn’t immature, it was boundary pushing. He could be the next Mapplethorpe, or something, just through paintings.</p><p>However, Mapplethorpe would already be off at the Chelsea Hotel or in the Castro District, he was unclear on the specifics, with Patti Smith, photographing someone else’s asshole while they’re off their heads on heroin. Dream wasn’t there yet, and he wasn’t sure if he was into asshole photography. He supposed he could cross that degree off the list too. He didn’t doubt that Snowchester had it at this point. It was hardly out of the question, considering some of the stuff he’d seen.</p><p>It was during these internal ramblings, that Dream began to prove himself wrong. Instead of lying awake in his uncomfortable twin bed, over the blankets and still in his jeans, he found himself dozing off rather quickly. Quickly for Dream at the very least.</p><p>When Dream slept, he could see visions of places he hadn’t been in years but they weren’t truly those places. He wandered around a building that he was told was his house, but the walls were all different colours and he couldn’t recognise any of the paintings hung on the walls. His bedroom was blue, but in real life it was grey. It blended into the sky.</p><p>Even though everything was wrong, and this wasn’t his house, these weren’t the walls he grew  up in, he felt safe in that space. The title of the book on his desk told him “It Will Begin Soon.”</p><p>Soon, soon, soon. Dream wanted now. He was sick of past and future tenses. </p><p>It was troubling, the uncanny nature of things. No one was around. It was hot and as he glided down the staircase he’d tripped on as a kid and knocked his head. He’d always been so reckless, but not now.</p><p>As he reached the bottom he heard someone calling out his name in the distance. It was a voice that Dream didn’t recognise and it was oh so far away, but it beckoned him. It beckoned him until it didn’t and he was being shaken awake by his roommate. </p><p>Sapnap looked down at Dream who groggily opened his eyes to look at his friend. For a moment, he was confused as to where he was, where the blue walls had gone to, and where the strange voice had been coming from. But he supposed it was just Sapnap’s no longer futile attempts to rouse him. </p><p>“What?” Dream asked, voice rough from the sleep and slight dehydration.</p><p>“You have a class in half an hour. I let you sleep for long enough,” He took a step away from Dream’s bed and back to his own desk, “By the way, your snoring interrupts my studying. You’re forcing my hand and I’m going to actually have to start going to the library.”</p><p>“No,” Dream grinned as he propped himself up onto his elbow, “You’re leaving me all day now? I can’t believe this. Are we getting a divorce?” </p><p>The room was cold because heating up the houses tended to be expensive, and a fruitless endeavour, and the garish art work on the wall was harsh to Dream’s brain which was still coming to after his nap, his vision trying to adapt to colours other than the blue that had haunted him in his sleep.</p><p>“You can get full custody of the kids. I’m going to go to Vegas and see what happens, I think,” Sapnap played along, scraping the chair against the hardwood floor as he sat back down, “Unless you get your shit together and get ready for class it’s an inevitability.”</p><p>“You were complaining yesterday that we all had obligations, and now you’re encouraging it?” Dream asked, and Sapnap shrugged.</p><p>“I don’t want to end up rooming with some brain dead Reaganite rich kid. Just a normal brain dead rich kid is enough for me.” Sapnap jabbed as he went back to taking notes from the no doubt centuries old book he was reading from, “Plus, when you’re not snoring you’re only mildly annoying to me. So you need to pass your classes and stick with me for the next couple of years.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream rolled his eyes before he began to sit up, aching slightly from the shitty mattress and the way he had slept on his bad arm. The pain had begun to fade, and that was something stranger than the way it had once hurt.</p><p>He ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair and yawned, “I’ll make sure to paint you a couple of dicks then. Maybe tits if you’re truly lucky,” He grinned over at Sapnap, who shook his head.</p><p>“I truly am lucky to have a roommate willing to slave through a figure painting session or whatever to provide me with free porn,” He told Dream, who shrugged in response, his grin only widened.</p><p>“True. It’s much better than any magazine you’ll find. I might have to start charging you for it, actually,” He stood, stretching out in the frozen little room as he stared out the window. There’s something truly breathtaking about the way the trees dot the campus, all those colours, all those leaves covering the ground. It was picturesque like the brochure he had first seen depicting it.</p><p>And he could see it from the place he slept. He might as well have started painting landscapes and that could have been the thing he did here, his purpose.</p><p>But it couldn’t be that just yet, and as such he walked over to the chair to grab his coat because he was going to stop and quickly get coffee or something before he made it to class, to keep him awake during the lecture. He also stole Sapnap’s scarf for good measure.</p><p>“Well, I have more important stuff to do than stick around here and watch you study,” He told Sapnap as he headed for their dorm. A cut up Warhol print was stuck onto it and he genuinely couldn’t remember how they ended up with it there. He shut the door behind him and the words written on their board had been rubbed out, leaving remements smudged onto it. </p><p>He managed to buy a coffee on campus before hurrying to his class, because he was a shockingly slow walker and tended to lose track of time.</p><p>The arts building he had stepped into was familiar from the year prior. The hallways were relatively neat and tidy, with blindingly white walls and sunlight seeping in through the windows. The room in which the class would be held was also familiar to Dream, and sometimes it felt as if he were repeating the prior year, especially in times like this.</p><p>Students slowly filled into the room in order, wearing those similar beige and dark colours, all blending in together as Dream stood towards the corner watching it happen. Everyone trickled in and he stared out the window at the mountains surrounding the school. It was a small class.</p><p>Although every class this year tended to spur up some emotional crisis within Dream, there was something a lot calmer about this one. Perhaps it was the laid back atmosphere, or something along those lines, about the small room that made it feel cozy.</p><p>He didn’t recognise many people in the class, and when he turns to talk to the kid next to him, he only responds to Dream’s greeting with a nod, and nothing else, which feels kind of rude.</p><p>The guy in question was short and skinny, wearing this big jacket over his hoodie that completely enveloped him. He looked mildly uncomfortable to be standing in this room, nervously glancing around, and for a moment Dream wondered why he looked familiar before he dismissed it. They were at the same school.</p><p>Whilst Dream wasn’t used to people ignoring him, he tried his best to be somewhat of a lovable everyman to those that surrounded him, he had also grown up in a situation that meant strangers typically liked to pay attention to him. But whatever, doesn’t matter. It’s just some pretentious art student.</p><p>And as the class went on and people were instructed to sketch something out, he glanced at this kid's work because he was quite frankly struggling a little with his own and it was easy to see that this guy was talented. A serious artist clearly considering he wasn’t talking at all, not a word throughout the entirety of the class. The proportions and the dynamics, and the shading and everything was working for him, though. Dream felt some strange mix of jealousy and awe. </p><p>See, Snowchester had its fair share of visual artists, and many painters, but they tended to skew to the more abstract variety, or towards the having rich parents variety. He probably wasn’t the only guy at the school with talent, but he was the first guy Dream had seen in a while to stand there so quietly, reluctant to show it off when it was probably what got him here.</p><p>Maybe the mysterious nature was earned due to a dedication to his work. Or maybe he was just shy.</p><p>The class didn’t last long as Dream contemplated whether or not he should attempt to talk to the guy next to him, or anyone in the class for that matter. However, when they were dismissed the guy was quick to clean up his stuff and leave as soon as possible before he got a chance to introduce himself. Whatever.</p><p>Dream had places to be anyway, and it was the least of his concerns as he packed up his own stuff and made his way back to his dorm.</p><p> </p><p>A couple of weeks passed and the Pre-Saturday Night party, definitely being attended by the seniors, was going ahead on the lawn. While the party may not have accounted for the weather, which was supposed to be heavy rain, it did account for tradition. One of the yearly celebrations on the campus, it was never not going to happen. That and the End of the World party.</p><p>The party existed in a way to welcome in the new school year, and scare the freshmen. Why it was named that, exactly, Dream had never worked out. It fit with the general eccentricities of the school, however.</p><p>The party was going to happen that Friday, Dream had been told excitedly by a freshman in the dining hall to the side of campus, amongst groups of hungover students there for breakfast before class. Dream didn’t actually know her, she seemed as if she was just telling anyone who would listen about the big news. </p><p>Every single moment at Snowchester was a big deal for the freshmen, Dream knew that first hand. There was this excitement surrounding everything, just how secluded it was, the fact that the staff didn’t necessarily care what you did as long as no one got seriously injured. The excuse to indulge in such debauchery was perfect for so many of these rich kids. It felt like some exclusive secret that must be kept.</p><p>The girls he sat with that day, because they were in his media class, were chattering away about something that had happened over the summer in LA. The boy with the sunglasses, yes the one who pissed on his paintings, hummed in acknowledgement of the story. He was there when it happened apparently.</p><p>“... Then he cut the head clean off. I’m not kidding.”</p><p>“Of course you’re kidding, it won’t have been real.”</p><p>The girl was on some morbid tirade, and despite the piercings and the dark Robert Smith hair, despite the make up and the disaffected tone of voice, the SoCal tan lingered and when she said words like ‘totally’ she was an LA girl without a doubt.</p><p>“No, you can’t fake stuff like that. Not what I saw. It was fucking brutal,” She was grinning. In some distant way Dream knew he was similar to this. Rich, bored, young, desensitised to whatever the world might throw at him. But he couldn’t imagine revelling in it. </p><p>Quickly last year, Dream had come to realise his place at the school was in some strange place between the Californian kids with their movie producer parents, and the East Coast natives who grew up around lawyers and argyle sweaters. And in that strange place he occupied, he was respected and enjoyed by his peers, and yet couldn’t find a lot of common ground with their wild stories. </p><p>Perhaps they were exaggerated, all for show to impress their college friends who had no real way of disproving them, yet every time Dream heard those stories of glamour, and brutality, and the stories of sordid affairs, the crimes that they all so proudly commit, he felt that little bit of disconnect. Perhaps at boarding school he should’ve put more of an effort into being scandalous. It would have at the very least given him a fun story or two.</p><p>And as the conversation at the table grew even more into the gleefully macabre, Dream could pinpoint that exact feeling of being unable to quite ‘get it.’ Whatever it may be.</p><p>And as such, he excused himself from the table to go get some water.</p><p>On Dream’s ongoing quest to find home, he found himself ticking Snowchester off the list. He’d find it elsewhere, anyway. Europe was supposed to be nice, he could take up backpacking once he finally left this place. Or maybe it was the strange version of his house that visited him in his dreams.</p><p>It’s later on that evening when they’re hanging out in Wilbur’s room, who’s scratching out an assignment on Hughes, with occasional grumblings about how boring he is, that Dream was feeling rather relaxed. It’s stormy outside but the walk between the dorms was short enough, and so Dream and Sapnap were willing enough to brave the pouring rain for five minutes or so in order to save themselves, and Wilbur of course, from the monotonous boredom of poetry essays.</p><p>“So what’s the point? What are you even writing about?” Sapnap asked as he lounged on a bean bag, picking at the various pages stuck haphazardly onto the wall next to him, nonsensical scribblings jotted down by Wilbur the previous year when he had been high on something for the first time, something that remains unknown well after the event. The room, or Wilbur’s side at least, was a bit of a mess.</p><p>“Divorce, the destruction of a marriage. Loss of love,” Wilbur looked up for a moment, and there was ink smudged onto his chin somehow that no one bothered to mention, “At least I think so. I kind of lost track a few pages ago. It’s mostly about trees I think.” He continued on, running an ink damp hand through his hair.</p><p>Dream was just kind of glad to be comfortably avoiding his own work.</p><p>“Can trees get divorced? Why would you use trees to symbolise getting divorced,” Sapnap inquired as he leaned even further back, getting comfortable on the spot on Wilbur’s hardwood floor. </p><p>“Of course trees can’t get divorced, what the fuck?” Dream asked, turning to Sapnap who was only grinning back.</p><p>“Okay!” Wilbur announced, slamming the pen that he had been no doubt putting through some amount of strain for the past couple of hours, “I’m finished. I wrote the conclusion. I don’t remember writing anything I wrote.” Dream burst out into a only slightly sincere cheer, and in response Sapnap began to applaud.</p><p>“Congratulations. You are one step further into your relationship with academia,” He beamed over at Wilbur who gave him a thumbs up, standing from his desk and half-collapsing onto the bed next to Dream, who scooted over to make room.</p><p>“You can relax now. Tell us about your week,” Dream laughed slightly as Wilbur buried his head in his scratchy bedsheets, groaning slightly, “See anything interesting? Recite a sonnet for anyone?” He went on, shoving Wilbur’s shoulder until he looked up again.</p><p>“Do you really want to hear about meter and rhyme schemes?” He asked, looking back over at Sapnap who shrugged, moving to sit back up again and join in on the conversation proper.</p><p>“There’s gotta be something more interesting in your life than fucking poetry dude. I thought you majored in it to impress that one girl. You know, the dance major?” He asked and Wilbur let out a sigh again.</p><p>“No, I studied it because I’m passionate about it,” Wilbur rolled his eyes and the two remained silent as they waited for Wilbur to continue on. He gave in. “And the dance major in question is seeing the guy from LA.” </p><p>“No way,” Dream shook his head, “The guy from LA is in my media class and he’s totally seeing that one French dude. Or he’s doing long distance with some UCLA student, writing love letters and what not.”</p><p>Sapnap nodded in agreement, “Are you sure it’s not the guy from San Francisco? You know, the gifted pianist,” He placed a mocking emphasis on those last words. At Snowchester you tended to find that a lot of the prodigies were just kids with a small amount of talents, and enough money to make it seem like it was a lot more.</p><p>“God, I don’t care, she’s seeing someone anyway,” Wilbur rolled onto his back, taking up the small twin sized bed as Dream scooted over the edge. “I really don’t understand why either of you won’t leave me to wallow in peace over this tragedy.”</p><p>“We wouldn’t want to leave you alone at all. We love you too much,” He placed a hand on Wilbur’s knee, patting it in light hearted support. “Besides, you wouldn’t be alone anyway. Don’t you have a roommate?”</p><p>The Roommate, who deserved capitalisation at that point in time, was an elusive figure to both Sapnap and Dream. He had a name, of course he did, but it was funnier to the both of them for him to be somewhat mysterious. The Invisible Man was their second choice for what to name him.</p><p>For the few weeks that this guy had been attending Snowchester, and by extension cohabitating with Wilbur, the two had yet to actually lay their eyes upon him, let alone meet him.</p><p>“I barely have a roommate,” Wilbur scoffed, looking over to the neatly made bed at the other side of the room. The neatly painted white walls were almost completely bare and he had few things on his nightstand. It was bizarre in contrast to the over the top, excessive nature of most students dorms. It was plain. </p><p>“Where is he anyway? Is he hiding from us or something?” Sapnap asked as he tapped his fingers against the floor, “We’re not exactly intimidating. Oh, are you trying to keep him to yourself?” </p><p>Wilbur shook his head, “He’s working. Either down in the video cave or elsewhere.” He explained, resting one of his legs over Dream’s as he turned, “I don’t really check for the most part. He tells me when he’s leaving and I know if he’s gone for too long, I have to go speak to the college administrators to make sure another student hasn’t up and vanished into the woods.”</p><p>“What? You know how it’s going to start to look if you lose a roommate to the Snowchester woods two years in a row?,” Dream asked, shoving Wilbur’s legs off of him, but not too hard, comfortable in his spot now, “Well you should keep him in one place and make sure we can meet him. As much as I love this ghost roommate thing you’ve got going on.”</p><p>“Go hunt him down then!” Wilbur exclaimed, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief, “I won’t be playing matchmaker for this friendship group. Besides, I’m sure he’s busy making his own friends. He’s pretty enough to get by.”</p><p>“He’s pretty?” Snapnap gasped exaggeratedly from the corner, “You have a new, pretty roommate that you’ve been hiding from us. Quite frankly, I’m hurt and offended that you won’t let us meet him now.”</p><p>“Yeah, what’s that about? Are we forbidden from having pretty friends?” Dream raised an eyebrow at Wilbur, who retorted in the form of hitting Dream with his pillow, whacking his bad arm. It didn’t hurt.. “What? Are you worried we’ll love your roommate more than we do you? I can’t believe you’re getting jealous Wilbur.”</p><p>“I hate both of you,” Wilbur told them, but of course there was no heat in his voice whatsoever. In fact, there was a warm affectionate smile upon his face. “You’ll meet him whenever he’s around. He’ll probably be at Pre-Saturday Night. I’ll introduce you if you’re truly that desperate to get to know him.”</p><p>Sapnap let something between a cheer and a laugh in response, “At least there will be some proof that he exists. Seriously, it looks like you’ve been living alone this entire time.” He drew their attention back to the barren wasteland that was The Roommate’s side of things. </p><p>But as bleak as it seemed, it was definitely lived in. There was a scarf draped lazily over the bed frame, and a pretty full, paint stained, bag was lying on the wooden floor at the foot of his bed there. The Roommate, despite any objections to the contrary, definitely did exist. It was more of a question of where he was at all hours of the day. </p><p>Dream was just curious, nothing else.</p><p>Regardless, he would probably end up meeting the mystery man on Friday, if Wilbur’s word was to be believed. He was mildly excited to get an answer to the ongoing question, but the situation quickly faded from his mind as time went on.</p><p>He had his life drawing class that Friday, the day of the famous, or rather infamous, party, and while initially the event hadn’t been such a big deal to Dream, after all he had already experienced it last year, it was almost as if the excess buzz from his fellow students had began to rub off on him. </p><p>As he spoke with the few people that could be found attending that class, there was a silent yet mutual agreement that everything discussed that afternoon would exclusively relate to what was in store for them later. Whilst Dream wasn’t as much of a gossip as some of the girls, and boys in all fairness, surrounding him, he liked to listen to the melodrama of it all. The knowledge of who may be hooking up with who, or who’s going to cheat on who tonight.</p><p>Dream would stand there with a keen ear as there were mentions of both names he recognised and names he didn’t. The previously mentioned dance major who had so clearly broken Wilbur’s heart was in fact going to be hooking up with some girl majoring in theatre, who Dream recognised from an elaborate method acting stunt she had pulled the year before.</p><p>Eventually, the boy who he had noticed on his first day of class scurried in, slightly out of breath with the tips of his ears and nose flushed red from the New England chill, dumping his bag on the floor. He still stood beside Dream this fortnight or so later and Dream had never quite stopped attempting to talk to him.</p><p>Despite the fact that the guy had never actually spoken a single word to him, only communicating in small nods and quiet hums, and occasionally he would mutter something under his breath, Dream still wanted to try.</p><p>And so despite the fact that throughout the wait for the class to begin that the boy next to him never actually said anything to join into the conversation, Dream watched as his ears perked up whilst they discussed the party. One of the freshmen in the class told a horror story of what she had heard totally happened to her roommate’s cousin in the sixties, and everyone giggled to themself.</p><p>The fabled nature of Snowchester continued on, generation after generation.</p><p>At the very end of the class, when everyone was beginning to pack up their things, the guy next to him looked at Dream for a moment, as if he were considering saying something, asking him anything. But he didn’t, and he grabbed his things and moved on once again.</p><p>Dream couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed.</p><p> </p><p>As the night finally arrived, Dream was layering in preparation to step out into the horrid weather.</p><p>The University lawn was now off limits due to the pouring rain and so the many students attending had relocated to one of the houses, seeking cover under the roof and on the porch as everyone spilled out of the door.</p><p>However, as Dream watched it unfold from his dorm room window as he waited for Sapnap to come back and get him, he couldn’t help but feel himself shiver with slight anticipation as he watched events unfold. While he knew it wasn’t quite the bacchanalian event that many students foretold it to be, it was still a night where Dream was able to have fun. With his friends and with others. </p><p>When the two of them wander into the house, making it in pretty easily due to Dream’s astounding ability to be tall and push past freshmen, Wilbur is already pretty notably standing there. </p><p>“Hey!” Wilbur shouted over at them when he caught sight of them, trying to make himself clear over the blaring music. Something New Wave. and Dream flashed him a smile as he strode in. “Come on, where have you been? I’ve been waiting.” There’s a blonde girl lingering around Wilbur, no doubt eagerly listening to whatever the fuck he has to say in regards to Verlaine or Plath. </p><p>“Waiting on one another to hurry up,” Sapnap replied as he wandered up to join them, his hair slightly soaked from the rain. “You know that Dream actually cares a ton about how he looks? He’s wearing makeup and everything, you just can’t see it. See, mascara makes his eyes pop in a subtle way-”</p><p>He was cut off as Wilbur handed them each a can of beer, and as Dream took it, holding the cold aluminium in one hand as he settled into the groove of the party. He didn’t mind anything too much. And the girl next to Wilbur was starting to lose interest. She was wearing some designer corset, he was sure it was a designer, and a big denim jacket fell off her shoulder. He was pretty sure that was a designer too. </p><p>And the music was loud as it pounded in dreams ears, contrasting with the harsh colours displayed within paintings on the walls. Neons splattered together in some expressionist mess that gave Dream a headache. He kept on drinking, and drinking.</p><p>There was definitely something that seemed special about the night, something that seemed almost monumental as he lingered in some doorway. There was a girl he was kind of seeing last year standing next to him and he was convinced that if she looked at him, she probably wouldn’t even be able to place exactly who he was.</p><p>The girl by Wilbur’s side had moved onto someone else, replaced by a brunette with spiky hair, and Dream didn’t fail to notice the fashion major that lingered to hear him talk. Dream wasn’t focusing much on the conversation at this point, his brain unsure of what to focus on in the blur of voices, and music, and various crashing noises that littered the background.</p><p>He was next to the kitchen and the door was right there. He could just leave and get some air. He could step out and go home. He could stay here all night and become the life of the party, rid himself of all inhibitions. Instead of any of those options, Dream stood there nursing his beer which would gradually over time grow lukewarm. The voices kept on talking.</p><p>“God, wasn’t that totally fucked up, Dream?” Wilbur asks him and his weird, crowd induced trance is cut short when he looks back over at Wilbur.</p><p>“Huh? Sorry I was out of it for a second.” Dream admitted, his free hand tapping fingers against the top of his own thigh, and Wilbur only laughed and shook his head in response to that.</p><p>“End of the world last year. The wicker man,” He giant structure, which was generally symbolic of either Reagan, Thatcher, or the parents of the impressive piece’s creator, had come crashing down the year before and set fire to the End of the World briefly. Someone got burned. Dream didn’t know who because by the time news had gotten out, he was halfway back to Florida. “She’s a freshman, but her brother was there apparently. Told her about it.” Wilbur further elaborated and nodded towards the girl next to him.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, of course,” He hummed thoughtfully as he tried to remember the night. He couldn’t remember the majority of it. He knew for sure he had gotten dumped on the steps of one of the art buildings that day. Right by the columns. It would’ve been poetic if he could at all recall it correctly. He wasn’t even sure if he was dumped, if there was anything to begin with. It was all so terribly vague.</p><p>He wondered if anyone here tonight noticed if he was off.</p><p>Wilbur went back to explaining the party because he had apparently watched the structure fall, something Dream doubted, and Sapnap was already gone. He was off having more fun somewhere in the house. Dream excused himself to go and get another drink.</p><p>You’d think, really and truly, that someone as generally sociable as Dream is, someone as effortlessly friendly and someone as extroverted, would thrive in situations like this. Within the crowd of bodies upon bodies, and the liveliness, the atmosphere, you’d just suppose that this was Dream’s environment. And it was at one point. </p><p>But somewhere along the line, everything became too much.</p><p>Somewhere along the line he went through the motions of getting excited to go out and do things, and be around people, and then when it actually happened he’d simply find himself feeling overwhelmed, or tired, or drained. Maybe it was just college, and stress, and school. Did he have an outlet for all that?</p><p>He poured himself a drink into a solo cup. He was unsure if being drunk would help this, really. When everything began to blur. He liked being drunk until he didn’t. He enjoyed the buzz, and the way he grew confident and talkative with it’s help, but at the end of the evening when he was laying alone in his twin sized bed, every time he closed his eyes he would feel as if he were falling down a twelve story building. A leap of faith gone wrong.</p><p>He took the risk.</p><p>He wandered around the house for a few minutes before he returned to Wilbur, locating Sapnap who was smoking by the doorway with some guy from one of his classes, Dream didn’t catch a name, then he saw a few other people he recognised from around. It really did seem like everyone was here, cramped into this space. It was hot and he regretted wearing a sweater over his shirt tonight.</p><p>The light above him was bright and artificial, nailed onto the roof. Dream had heard of stories of people attempting to swing from lights before his time, ruining the electricity at the already pretty primitive school, and he wondered how much he'd missed so far. Had he missed the glory days? He knew it was kind of a party school already when he applied, so had the fun already been had?</p><p>He shook his head as he dismissed his thoughts and began to head back to the doorway where he knew Wilbur would’ve been lingering still, along with the girls. Wilbur found himself pretty popular amongst a lot of the girls at Snowchester for reasons that Dream was only vaguely aware of. Some mixture of the poetry, the height, and the fact that Wilbur was mostly a normal person.</p><p>Sure, Wilbur had gone to some fucked up independent school up in Scotland or something, where Dream was ninety percent sure they still had weird titles for the students, and prefects, and stuff, and wore suits. He was convinced of this because of a movie he’d been taken to see back home about British private schools fifty years back, and now he was sure that nothing could have changed. He could easily picture Wilbur back in the 30s.</p><p>In all honesty though, Dream had been more focused on the boys kissing in the boat on screen than the actual plot of the movie, though, so his assumptions may be slightly inaccurate.</p><p>As he found his way back, turning to fit between figures huddled together in the kitchen, he noticed the usual lot around Wilbur. </p><p>And then he noticed someone else.</p><p>Standing by Wilbur’s side now, looking anxious and as small as ever in his large clothes, was the guy from his drawing class. He was holding a can of beer in his hand and it was almost comical seeing him stand next to Wilbur. He looked like a kid for a moment, and then he looked like anyone else, and under the harsh hundred watt light that burned brightly above them, he looked like everything. Dream just wanted to say something, get his attention.</p><p>Dream was prone to moments where he felt that he had fallen in love at first sight, so this wasn’t new, but still.</p><p>He wanted to kiss him, kind of, but he also wanted to stare at his hands, rest his own on his shoulders. What on earth was Dream looking for just now? He put his thoughts off limits for the moment. </p><p>It could’ve been the alcohol, or it could have been the general atmosphere. The fact that everyone seems so different outside of class. Maybe it was the lighting. He was just strangely drawn to him and now that he had noticed, he couldn’t let that feeling go. He could cling to that, give himself something to do for the rest of the night. Someone to focus his mind on.</p><p>“Hey,” He called out over the music, mostly to Wilbur but partially to the guy who’s name Dream now realised he’d never taken the time to learn let alone remember. He was just so silent.</p><p>Wilbur turned to see Dream, who was maneuvering his way back into the group, and grinned. “Oh dude, hey. We were just talking about you actually.” Wilbur began, before looking to his side again to see the guy, and something in his eyes lit up.</p><p>“Oh, Dream!” He shouted, like he’d forgotten something really important, like he’d realised something he’d been excited to say for months, “This is George,” He gestured to the aforementioned man by his side, “My roommate. The one you wanted to meet.”</p><p>Well. Dream supposed that was a mild turn of events, whether it would affect things for the positive or negative was unclear for now. For now, whatever fleeting, intense emotion he held towards the guy, who was now George, was off limits. He couldn’t have one of those brief, heart wrenching love affairs with Wilbur’s roommate. The positive was just knowing someone in his class.</p><p>And the fact that he has an excuse not to have a brief, heart wrenching love affair.</p><p>“Oh, yeah!” Dream put on one of his brighter smiles, directed at both George and Wilbur. Friendly, approachable, an everyman. “We have a class together actually.” He explained quickly, trying to be as warm as he could, “So it’s not like this is the first time we’re meeting, right?”</p><p>“Of course,” George nodded, quick to respond with a smile back. “Sorry, I probably should have introduced myself then, because I kind of knew who you were, but I didn’t want to seem weird.” He explained, talking fast but carefully, not stumbling over his words or slurring his speech quite yet.</p><p>“Oh,” Dream paused for a moment. He knew it was likely that Wilbur had just mentioned him, and Sapnap by extension, but it still felt strange for someone to know him first, before anything else, “Well, I guess I don’t need to introduce myself properly. But I will. I’m Dream.” He held out his hand, waiting for George to accept.</p><p>He did.</p><p>George shook his hand in a firm grasp and looked up at Dream as he did so. Dream was no stranger to meeting people at parties like these, and no stranger to following them around for the rest of the semester. He was no stranger to moments like this. Wilbur had told them a couple days back that George was pretty enough to get by. Dream thought, then at least, that he was far prettier.</p><p>He let go after the expected amount of time that a handshake should take place over, or perhaps he lingered a second too long. If he did, it didn’t show on George’s face. Then, he returned to look at Wilbur, “So what were you saying about me?” He regained composure, if he had ever lost it at all, “It better be about how awesome I am.”</p><p>Wilbur grinned widely, mischievously,  at Dream and nodded his head slightly, “Well, something like that.” He stayed silent for a moment before Dream raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. “I was telling everyone about your famous ex.” Dream groaned.</p><p>“That’s not at all a good thing,” Dream told them, “And I wouldn’t even consider them an ex. Can we just say it was someone who visited my dorm room a few times last year and leave it at that?” He asked loudly, his tone edging more towards the dramatics when George stepped in.</p><p>“Wait, I missed this part. Who’s the ex?” </p><p>Wilbur’s grin only grew from there, clearly excited to be able to tease Dream some more. He had found it to be hilarious when the events first occurred, and even funnier in the aftermath. Dream accepted his fate.</p><p>“Okay, so last year Dream spent like a whole night trying his best to come across as cool to impress someone, and miraculously it worked. I had to hear for like a month about how great they were, how genuine their art was et cetera, et cetera,” Wilbur began, taking a step back to lean against the wall, preparing his stance in the way he did whenever he told a story.</p><p>“And anyway, they stopped seeing each other after they took their exams. He got dumped at the End of the World party. During the summer I had to post Dream a newspaper article letting him know that his ex, who was some young Lord, had been caught with cocaine and was cut off without a penny.” Wilbur was enjoying this, and George seemed enthralled. Dream was just embarrassed.</p><p>“Wait, I recognise that story. I know who you’re talking about. You dated him?” George turned to Dream, who smiled almost apologetically. What he was sorry for wasn’t yet clear.</p><p>“Again, I would hardly say dated. I was just kind of around him for a little while until I wasn’t,” He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “No one really dates here. Especially not him.”</p><p>Wilbur made a noise of disagreement, “No, he was definitely exclusively seeing you. I watched him turn down that girl from Spain once. You know, the painter. The really hot painter.” Dream knew.</p><p>“It wasn’t a relationship.” He maintained, “I would know better than you, especially since I was allegedly in it,” Dream rolled his eyes, but George still seemed interested. Was still looking eagerly between the two as he tried to make up his mind on something.</p><p>“So, regardless,” George began, “You hooked up with someone who became famous in UK tabloids over the summer. His whole scandal was being talked about alongside Di’s pregnancy.” He explained, and Dream wasn’t aware. Wilbur had only told him brief details, only showed him that.  It wasn’t as if the man had contacted Dream. “Anyway, apparently he got someone pregnant too.”</p><p>“Well, he got up to a lot since he left,” Dream laughed, mildly uncomfortable as he took another sip of his drink but completely unwilling to let it show. </p><p>“That’s because you broke his heart Dream,” Wilbur told him, his voice bordering on song as he delighted in the moment. </p><p>“You say that like I’m the one who ended things.” Dream scoffed, and Wilbur kept on laughing.</p><p>“Well, yes, but the fact that he had to end things with you destroyed him, no doubt,” Wilbur went on, and on, and Dream took another drink.</p><p>“What, like the dance major destroyed you?” He raised an eyebrow, and Wilbur lifted a hand to his heart in mock hurt, dramatically falling back against the wall. It was far from graceful, considering Wilbur was the height he was, but it achieved the desired effect.</p><p>“That’s too far, Dream. Off limits.” He told him, and George stepped in again.</p><p>“Dance major?” He asked, mainly looking at Dream rather than Wilbur, and now it was Dream’s turn to grin in glee.</p><p>“Oh, he hasn’t told you? He’s been moping for months because the girl he was into is seeing some guy from San Fran-” He explained to George, before getting cut off again by Wilbur.</p><p>“Actually he’s from LA.”</p><p>“Either way,” He returned to face George, “Wilbur has been pining for a while now. I’m sure if you look hard enough you’ll find all that poetry dedicated to her.”</p><p>Wilbur took a step forward to shove at Dream playfully, allowing him to stumble backwards and spill his drink slightly over his shirt. It was okay, he didn’t mind. He was actually beginning to get comfortable with the setting, settling into the groove of the night.</p><p>“So George,” Dream eventually asked when topics were changed and tones were varied, “What’s your major? You’re new this year right?” And George had settled too. Perhaps drinking had given him some confidence, or perhaps he too had grown at ease with the conversation.</p><p>“Oh, painting.” He explained, and Dream nodded approvingly, or maybe out of respect. Feelings and emotions tended to blur together. “I kind of came here because I figured if I was ever going to make it in something like that, I’d need to go somewhere respected.” Which was fair. Snowchester, as useless as it was in most areas, was respected by those in the fine arts. It was there for bragging, a symbol. “You?” George asked, and Dream pulled a face. Wilbur chuckled.</p><p>“Dream’s undecided. He spent too much of his first year pining to pick,” And Dream rolled his eyes again. George chuckled as Dream thought to himself that it was one of the nicer things he’d heard tonight, over the synthesized droning coming from someone’s speaker, located somewhere unknown in the house. Everytime Dream left his post by his friends’ sides, George was now considered a friend like anyone Dream spoke to whilst he drank, the layout seemed to change.</p><p>“I’m still considering my options. There’s a lot to think about, you know?” He asked, and Wilbur shook his head.</p><p>“I knew what I wanted to do from day one. That’s why I came here. You just showed up,” Wilbur argued back and Dream laughed.</p><p>“No, I didn’t just show up. I came here because I like Vermont, and because Sapnap had convinced me in the last year of high school,” He explained, “Besides. I like it here. I like having all those options.”</p><p>“I forgot you two have been joint at the hip since you were born,” Wilbur groaned, “Where is he anyway? He barely said hi before he was off.” He asked Dream, who only shrugged. Sapnap’s absence wasn’t really abnormal. When it came to parties, he tended to be like a cat. He wandered off, but you knew by the next day, at the very least, he’d return home.</p><p>“He was with a guy from one of his classes. Intense debate. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He turned to George, feeling a need to explain, “Sapnap’s my roommate by the way. And Wilbur’s only other friend besides me.”</p><p>Wilbur tried to interrupt, to argue, before he was interrupted by one of the girls from earlier, who had come back to pass him a drink. She was the brunette. Wilbur gladly accepted and Dream turned back to George.</p><p>“So are you enjoying Snowchester? It’s a long way from home.” He queried to George who looked up at him in some curiosity, before nodding.</p><p>“Yeah, I mean, I’ve had my eye on here for a while. It’s always seemed like this little secret. Tucked away.” George began, shrugging slightly. Despite the heat in the house, he was still wearing his usual jacket, still huge on him. He wondered what George would look like in Dream’s clothes.</p><p>“I wasn’t even aware of this place mostly throughout high school. Sapnap was the one to let me know about it. I was kind of immediately convinced,” Dream told George, who looked fascinated. He always had this look on his face like he wanted to know more, and Dream wanted him to know everything. If he could give him all the knowledge in the world he would. “My parents were hoping for an ivy league or something, but I never had the drive for that. I would’ve ended up dropping out.”</p><p>George nodded quietly, cryptically, before speaking again, “Well, I suppose that would’ve been a waste. I take it you spent your youth in expensive boarding schools across the globe? Switzerland, maybe?” He joked, but he could tell that George wanted to know, wanted to see if Dream would brag.</p><p>“Boarding school is right, but I never made it to Europe. Mostly in New Hampshire, as pretentious as it sounds. My parents enjoyed the peace they got whenever I was away.” Dream told George, who nodded again. Dream just hoped he passed whatever test George was setting, “But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about rich kid problems. You probably hear enough of that already in classes. Or living with Wilbur.”</p><p>George shrugged, “I prepared myself appropriately for whatever issues rich kids would be having. Admittedly, I pictured a lot more caviar.” </p><p>Dream grinned, and then laughed, and he hoped that George enjoyed that, “Maybe that’s there for some. Sadly the most we have in lieu of fine cuisine here is dining hall.” George began to grin back as Dream spoke.</p><p>Their conversation was interrupted by Wilbur, walking up to them with the girl from earlier on his arm, “Uh, so I’m going to head. I’ll see you later, right?” He asked, and the two of them nodded, refusing to comment on the situation unfolding in front of them. Wilbur turned to George specifically, “I’ve got a key so you don’t have to wait up or anything.”</p><p>It was then that Wilbur left, the girl next to him giggling. </p><p>“At least it’s not in your room?” Dream offered to George, who sighed.</p><p>“At least there’s that. I should probably head home soon, too, though. I have a couple of papers to write this weekend that I kind of put off,” And now Dream could see that George looked tired. It was the first night they had ever truly spoken and Dream was already busy trying to work out his patterns, the way he acted.</p><p>“Yeah? That’s a shame, then. You’ll be leaving me all on my own,” He furrowed his eyebrows together lightheartedly, pressing his hand to his heart in faux pain,”It’s quite the betrayal.”</p><p>“You’ll be fine without me, trust me on that,” George laughed, and shook his head, “There’s a girl a few feet away who’s been watching you all night. I’m sure she’ll keep you occupied.”</p><p>Dream, never one to be subtle, quickly turned his head to look and George was right. Dream recognised her but not enough to put a name to the face. Maybe on another night he’d be fine and take a chance, talk to her. She was pretty, her hair was dyed some obscenely bright colour and her clothing was just as bright. But Dream turned back around.</p><p>“Nah. Do you want me to walk you home? I could do with the fresh air.” Dream asked George, who didn’t say anything in response for a moment, but looked surprised. He paused as he thought, and Dream almost internally started to panic. Almost.</p><p>“Uh, sure, yeah. As long as it isn’t too far,” Dream knew the way to Wilbur’s dorm, and he knew it wasn’t terribly far but it was still a walk. He didn’t seem to care though. </p><p>“Of course not. Besides, I already know the way.” </p><p>One look out the window into the dark told Dream that it was not only now into the wee hours of the morning, but it was still raining. Not as heavily, though, as the storm seemed to have calmed itself. Still, for extra precautions, Dream found himself lifting a random black umbrella that he found lying around the house as he left with George.</p><p>As they stepped into the pouring rain alongside each other, Dream opened the umbrella, fiddling with it as they walked onto the grass and eventually held it over their heads. He had to lean down slightly so it would effectively cover both of them. He was holding it up with his bad arm, which ached on occasion, but nothing too detrimental.</p><p>Despite the harsh conditions, it seemed somewhat peaceful around them. Perhaps the two were allowed to exist in their own bubble for a moment, unaffected by the swaying trees and the looming mountains surrounding them. </p><p>“So, forgive me if this is rude,” George began on their walk, which consisted mostly of small talk until this point, “But I have a question I wanted to ask.” Dream nodded, turning to face him. George’s cheeks and the tips of his ears were slightly pink and he was looking up at Dream.</p><p>“Okay, so what’s the deal with your name? Like, were your parents just intense hippies, or? Is it normal for people to have these names?” He asked, and that genuine curiosity was showing on his face again. Dream wanted to treasure it. Instead he chuckled.</p><p>“No, it’s uh, it’s not my real name,” He shook his head, turning away from George, “When me and Sapnap were like twelve, there was this exercise at school where we had to come up with a name that felt ‘true to us’ or something. I chose Dream because I was having trouble sleeping at night due to pretty vivid nightmares. After that it stuck.”</p><p>George hummed in response, seemingly considering the story for a few moments, “And Sapnap?”</p><p>Dream laughed loudly, clearly in the falling rain, “No clue. He just said it felt right, and it did. That’s why they stuck. And it just stuck when we started going here.” Dream turned and George was looking at him again, a small smile playing on his lips.</p><p>“And your real name?” He asked Dream, and they were now fast approaching the dorm. He could faintly see it despite the rain.</p><p>“Clay. I always thought it was pretty boring.” Dream confessed to George, who had also no doubt noticed their destination approaching.</p><p>“I like Clay.” </p><p>Whether or not George was talking about the name or the person wasn’t very clear. Whether or not Dream wanted George to be talking about the name or the person was equally as vague. Blurry like a memory.</p><p>“Well, I hope you like Dream more. No one ever calls me Clay, save for my parents.” Dream shrugged, and George nodded.</p><p>“Yeah, I like Dream a lot as well.” Dream only smiled in response to that. </p><p>They reached George’s door.</p><p>“So this is me,” George began, looking up at the building, to one of the windows. Presumably his own. </p><p>“That it is. Thanks for letting me walk you back,” Dream told George, with sincerity apparent in his eyes. George stopped and looked at him, trying to decipher something Dream had never encrypted in the first place, “The air’s good for my head.”</p><p>“No problem. Thanks for doing it. It’s better to have company on nights like these.” </p><p>“So I suppose I should get going. I think I need to sleep,” Dream admitted to George, still sheltering him underneath the umbrella.</p><p>“What, no goodnight kiss?” George joked, but his cheeks were still red. Whether or not that was from the weather, or anything else, Dream didn’t know. Dream didn’t know much of anything tonight.</p><p>“Not yet. You’ll need to take me out to dinner first.” Dream smiled at George, who smiled back and Dream had but a moment to appreciate it in the soft glows that illuminated the campus that night, before George turned, heading for the door. </p><p>“Next time then.” He stood there in the open doorway, maybe waiting for Dream to leave first, waiting for a goodbye.</p><p>“Next time,” Dream agreed. He wondered if he was blushing too. It was all too innocent, all to tame, to chaste. Usually, when Dream met people at parties they would have been back in his dorm room by now. But tonight he held back. He wondered if he would care about George to this extent in the morning, when the party’s effects had worn off. He wondered.</p><p>George smiled one last time at Dream, before he headed in, the door closing behind him.</p><p>And on the deserted path, surrounded by the now much lighter storm, Dream began to head for home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. october</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so this will come out every 2 weeks. the next chapter has like a 50% chance of being very long. the chapter after that too. </p>
<p>thanks to yummymeal for being around and helping out w this &lt;3333 </p>
<p>i wrote most of this in one sitting which is impressive for me i think that's fun.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It seemed, in those blissful halcyon days, that the months began to pass Dream by without him ever taking the time to notice.</p>
<p>When September passed, Dream realised at some point he had to actually focus on maintaining his position as a student in Snowchester, which was hardly easier said than done. It was just that there were so many things that could have provided an easy distraction for him. </p>
<p>For one, whatever other students were up to suddenly became infinitely more interesting than Dream ever expected it to seem. They were just there sitting out on the grass, or on benches when the grass got too cold, and yet it was still exponentially more appealing than doing any task he had been assigned.</p>
<p>As he was sitting at his desk writing an essay for his media class, which he wasn’t really grasping but that also wasn’t stopping him from trying so far, he could feel the looming threat of another bout of demotivation. He mostly ignored it.</p>
<p>Things were also getting colder, which was ominous when Dream had arrived previous year, but seemed a lot more natural now. Despite spending all these years away from home, Dream had never truly been able to handle the cold like his peers. He was warm blooded, truly, born in the humidity and never really able to stop and get used to anything else. He thought, though, maybe now he could handle the autumn chills that accompanied the changing seasons.</p>
<p>However, it had always been a slight nuisance, really, because as it was already known, the dorms that students were housed in had pretty shitty heating. And served as an appropriate explanation as to why Dream was wearing so many layers to complete the simple task of writing an essay at his own desk. He had to explain this when Sapnap returned.</p>
<p>“It’s so cold, man, I don’t know how you don’t feel it. You’re from Texas.” Dream groaned as Sapnap pulled off his sneakers, not bothering to untie them, and leaving them by the foot of his bed as he dumped his bag down onto the floor.</p>
<p>“I’m just a lot stronger than you, really,” Sapnap teased, shrugging when Dream looked over at him with mild annoyance, his bad mood mostly inspired by the particularly dull task he was attempting to complete. “It’s not my fault that you need three coats to survive.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It kind of is, you dragged me here,” Dream pointed his pen at Sapnap, faux accusation in his tone. Sapnap was grinning back at him.</p>
<p>“And you’ve never looked back since. Did you really want to end up at Harvard or Berkeley?” Sapnap asked, knowing full well Dream didn’t. He had had the pleasure of hearing Dream’s impassioned rants about deciding his own future back in highschool, back when he believed that his parents would be devastated upon learning their son wanted to fuck off and do something artsy. He learned quickly, that summer when he had brought it up at one of their sit-at-the-table dinners, that his parents didn’t care much either way.</p>
<p>Dream found it bizarre at first, because if the movies had told him anything it’s that when you’re someone like Dream, there’s a position you’re supposed to fill, a role you have to play. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed to learn that this rule didn’t apply to him whatsoever. Instead, he just applied to Snowchester. And instead he just sat on a chair that squeaked horrifically against the wooden floors, and thought that this was really the only place that would have him anyway.</p>
<p>It was evening then, Dream had noted that when Sapnap arrived, and it was going to get late. He still had stuff to get done before tomorrow, but deadlines were never quite deadlines and so he seriously contemplated how bad it would be, really, if he just stopped. If he rested for a while, he felt as if he had earned it.</p>
<p>Dream had to get used to things before they went on without him, he knew that. He had to do enough of his work to get by, and talk to enough people, and go to class often enough. He forgot how truly draining it got sometimes, though.</p>
<p>He closed the notebook he had been writing into and looked over at Sapnap, who was lying on his own bed with a book open. Okay, he totally deserved some time to relax tonight. Besides, it was getting towards that time of evening where Dream’s arm started to hurt, and he just wondered why he had to fuck up the one he actually used.</p>
<p>For some reason, despite the pain being less noticeable, this year he had become more acutely aware of that.</p>
<p>“Do you think if I sleep now, I’ll be able to wake up early and finish this?” Dream asked Sapnap, who didn’t even bother looking up before he answered.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Okay, fine.” Dream stood up anyway, pushing his chair in, the god awful screech accompanying it. Sapnap flinched slightly, but still didn’t look up. </p>
<p>Dream looked out the window and wondered how much the landscape would begin to change over the coming months. He wondered, also, if he was ever going to grow up and change alongside it.</p>
<p>It turns out Sapnap, however, was half wrong, because after going to sleep relatively early, Dream found himself awake and unable to continue sleeping in the early morning the following day. Restless now, he wandered around Campus. He knew, really, he should get breakfast or do some work. It was right there waiting for him, after all. But his body couldn’t bring itself to do so. </p>
<p>The people that were out at this time tended to be the people who had actual jobs on campus, or nearby. Dream watched them hurry around as he took his time, nowhere to be. It occurred every now and then to Dream, mostly in times like these, that his experiences still differed from a lot of people in school, despite how universal they sometimes felt. He figured everyone felt the same way as he did, as if they were floating through the day without much care. Sometimes he had to see fault in this assumption.</p>
<p>The morning was bright in that cold way where the only purpose that the sun occupies is to annoy whoever may be outside. The grass was damp and the trees were still turning orange, still changing around Dream. It was sometimes as if they were taunting him. Dream wasn’t really in the mood for it then, nor ever.</p>
<p>It was far too much running around to be doing before nine, really, and Dream wasn’t always used to it. But he needed something to do and there was enough land for him to occupy his time wandering.</p>
<p>He had yet to hike through the several trails that surrounded campus. Partly because of laziness and partly because of that girl who went missing a couple of decades ago. She became a bit of an urban legend around the school, a campfire story even when there were no campfires. She just up and vanished. Dream didn’t want to disappear, not really.</p>
<p>There were a lot of things that Dream could do, maybe that he wanted to. Vanishing had never been one of those things.</p>
<p>But still the woods lingered there, like a looming threat. Dream wondered, honestly, if one day they would just start to consume him.</p>
<p>He looked away, if he ever really could, and headed towards the dining hall. He needed to focus on feeding himself, something that had become a lot easier to forget as the weeks went on.</p>
<p>It was mostly empty at this time of day, shockingly. You’d expect there to be students there for breakfast, and there sometimes were, but it had to be taken into account that a lot of the students in attendance didn’t care much for showing up to class on time, or eating, or both.</p>
<p>As he started his day in the official sense, rather than messing around some more, he settled into the routine he would continue to follow for the next few days, getting up early and walking around, restless and tired but not tired enough to sleep. </p>
<p>And it was later that week, when Dream was lamenting on the time he had wasted, because despite all his apparent productivity and the issues he’d been having with his sleep, he could barely get a single piece of work done. He expected better of himself, an essay or two at the very least. Instead, he spent most nights staring at textbooks where there were definitely words upon the page, but they didn’t make all that much sense in the moment.</p>
<p>He always ended up waking and feeling a lot more tired than he had when he went to bed in the first place.</p>
<p>As part of his usual routine now, Dream headed down to the dining hall early to get coffee more than he was going to eat, getting up early had inspired this awkward nausea that persisted until around midday and put Dream off of food.</p>
<p>But as Dream stepped into the hall that morning, he grinned as he saw who was working that morning.</p>
<p>“George!” Dream exclaimed, seemingly delighted to see him. </p>
<p>See, George and Dream over the mere weeks that they had known each other had managed to fall into a pretty easy routine that consisted of Dream’s persistent attempts to charm George into becoming infatuated with him, a lot of overfamiliarity, and George being shockingly accepting towards the whole thing. </p>
<p>In fact, when George reacted  in some form of relief to hearing Dream say his name on that dull October morning, but you’d only see this if you looked close enough. </p>
<p>Dream knew George worked there, and so took it upon himself to provide conversation and entertainment, or in other words chat him up, on the more monotonous mornings. It just so happened that every morning tended to be along those lines. It just gave Dream something to do really, something to make it all seem less repetitive. He was sure George didn’t mind either.</p>
<p>“Dream,” George wasn’t smiling exactly, but he was close to getting there, “Are you stalking me? How are you always here when I’m working?” He asked, and there was barely anyone around. A small school and an early hour where no one really needed to be anywhere. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I’ve checked your shifts. I just like to come in and say hi,” Dream shook his head. His hands were still in his coat pockets, and it was still always a little strange seeing George. Still a little strange knowing George, “Actually, no I come here to entertain you. Like a party clown.”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” George nodded, and finally started to actually smile, “So like the one who killed people, right?” He asked and Dream shrugged.</p>
<p>“Something along those lines,” Dream joked as he lingered there, “Where have you been? You haven’t been in class all week.” </p>
<p>“Ill. Why?” George asked him, raising an eyebrow slightly at Dream who only smiled in return. “You miss me?”</p>
<p>“More than anything.”</p>
<p>He, in some ways, had actually missed George. It wasn’t the first thing on his mind, but he had contemplated stopping by his and Wilbur’s room to see if he had died, or something along those lines.</p>
<p>“Okay, what do you want, Dream?” George had bags under his eyes and he looked tired, Dream didn’t want to hold him up, but he wanted to make it all a little less mundane sometimes.</p>
<p>“To know when you finish up here.” Dream offered, and George looked around, looking at the tired students sitting around the worn-in tables. The linoleum floor glimmered in the bright lights. It seemed like an awful job to have, from Dream’s perspective, but Dream had also never really had to work, so his perspective was limited.</p>
<p>“In like an hour.” George told Dream when his eyes finally located the big clock up on the wall.</p>
<p>“I’ll stick around then and wait for you.” Dream told him, and before George could agree to anything, Dream continued, “I know you have time to kill before class. Just spend it with me. I’m bored anyway.” And George looked back up at the clock, then back at Dream.</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Great!” Dream grinned once more at him, wide and welcoming, “See you then.” George only watched as Dream walked over to the coffee pot to pour himself some and begin waiting. </p>
<p>Dream had, after the night they officially met, decided to dedicate at least some time to getting to know George. Not just because he found him attractive, too. He was Wilbur’s roommate after all, and Dream had learned to like Wilbur well enough over the past year, so he thought they might as well get along. As well as that, he was in one of Dream’s classes. It gave him someone to bother before and after that class, and when Sapnap was either working or in a class of his own.</p>
<p>It was pretty convenient all things considered.</p>
<p>Another helpful thing about George was the fact that he worked on campus, meaning Dream always had a decent idea about where to find him. It helped in the end.</p>
<p>Despite what he said, he didn’t stick around, really, to watch George work. He finished his coffee and said a quick; “See you soon.” To George as he left. He grabbed his stuff from his room, whatever he’d need for his next class just in case he didn’t get back there in time.</p>
<p>Really, it was just nice to have someone to talk to a lot of the time. George was a good listener. Either that, or he couldn’t be bothered to interrupt Dream whenever he had something to say. It worked out both ways. </p>
<p>As mentioned somewhere previously, the school was pretty small. Less than a thousand students attended and it was around the same size as whatever high school Dream had attended, which was bizarre to him sometimes, the fact he had transitioned to a place that could, if he tried hard enough, easily replicate where he had spent the majority of his teen years. He didn’t focus too hard on that though.</p>
<p>He’d never been this free when he was an adolescent, and on the occasions he was allowed to do his own thing it never worked out. Things had changed. If he kept saying it, maybe he could convince everyone who had been around at the time that he was growing up, that it was all working out in the end. He could stop worrying people.</p>
<p>And George was waiting outside the Dining Hall when Dream finally made it back.</p>
<p>“You’re late. I thought you were excited to spend time with me, too,” George looks at him, his tone light hearted but tired.</p>
<p>“Busy schedule. I’m a popular guy,” Dream told George who stood up slightly from the wall he had been leaning against. He was wearing these boots that look old as shit and Dream wondered if they were doing much to prevent him from feeling the cold. He didn’t ask. Didn’t ever really want to be that patronising.</p>
<p>“Sure you are, that’s why you’re with me right now,” George walked over and stood beside him, “I’ve got to stop by the library and grab something, if you don’t mind. Can you make room on your schedule for that?” </p>
<p>He definitely could.</p>
<p>It always felt a little bit warmer whenever he walked beside George, who could handle the cold a lot better than him. He mocked Dream slightly for his choice of clothes that day, “Who layers jumpers on top of one another? That’s fucked up. I wouldn’t even do that.” </p>
<p>“I’m taking a risk that you wouldn’t understand.” Dream was just cold. “It’s probably a cultural difference. They don’t have fashion in the UK,” And George shoved at his bad arm but it didn’t really hurt whenever George did that. </p>
<p>“I can promise that we do, somewhere. Although, you wouldn’t know. Have you ever actually left the States?” George asked him, and Dream shook his head.</p>
<p>“I hate flying. And the idea of being on a boat for several days makes me, like, unthinkably ill.” Dream admitted, looking up at the sky. It was cloudy up there and showed signs of rain. He hoped it didn’t.</p>
<p>“Guess I can’t take you home to my family then,” George looked up at him, and it was a joke, it was so obviously a joke. Still, sometimes when George said stuff like this, and it wasn’t even necessarily exclusive to George, Dream allowed himself to picture a vague future filled with the domesticity and happiness he had been watching on his TV screens growing up. He thinks he’d be perfect in one of those 1950s sitcoms.</p>
<p>“No, you’ll have to bring your family over to meet me. I’m well worth it, though,” Dream asserted, cocky and confident in his tone, trying to keep the playful tone going before he had to actually face whatever he felt in his chest at the idea of meeting anyone’s family.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure about that. You’re from Florida, right? I don’t think they could take the heat,” George gave Dream a sorry smile, who scoffed.</p>
<p>“I’ll just have to move somewhere colder then. Is it never warm in the UK? You’re not Scottish or anything,” Dream pointed out, “Aren’t you from the South?” and George shrugged.</p>
<p>“Well, I guess it gets warm during summer. But not Florida warm.  I feel like there are limits to it all,” George explained, and Dream listened as he did so. George didn’t talk much about where he was from, or much of anything about himself. Dream liked to listen whenever he did. “I can barely stand England when it’s hot. I don’t think I could do Florida for long.”</p>
<p>“Really? Have you ever been?” He asked, and George shot him a look that reminded Dream that he obviously hadn’t, “I’ll have to force you to come down with me. I haven’t managed to get Wilbur to, but he spends his summers in like, France or Italy.”</p>
<p>George raised an eyebrow at him, “Do you not leave at all durings breaks? Do you just stay in your mansion whenever you’re not here?” Dream was kind of used to those comments, they were understandable at the end of the day.</p>
<p>“I don’t see a point in leaving. I’m only really there during the summer and winter break.” Dream told him, “Actually, that’s a lie. When I was in elementary school I got sent home to spend Thanksgiving with my family.”</p>
<p>“So despite being from Florida, not even you can stand Florida? Is that what you’re telling me?” George asked, and Dream rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>“I’m fine with Florida. But, to be honest, I’m not really thinking of staying there after all this,” They approached the library building together, Dream pushing the heavy door open for the both of them. The building was old, one of the older ones on campus, built sometime fifty years ago. As such, the door creaked loudly as the two of them stepped in. Pretty inconvenient for a library, Dream thought.</p>
<p>“Yeah? Where are you heading to?” George asked, his voice hushed slightly as the two of them walked in, maintaining quiet conversation. There were only a few people around as they walked in, but they still didn’t want to disturb anyone.</p>
<p>“I dunno. Away. Some city.” Dream didn’t have a full answer. All of his plans were vague. He didn’t really think he needed plans until recently.</p>
<p>“God, I wish I could be as unsure as you,” George laughed under his breath, leading them into one of the sections, something to do with painting, “Seriously. I’ve had to map this whole thing out since I was a teenager and you just… I dunno, do it.”</p>
<p>“I guess I just never thought that much.” It didn’t work out all so well for him before, did it? Better start using his head. “My future’s never been the focus, and now that it has to be it gets a little bit weary.”</p>
<p>George shook his head as he walked over to go find a book, something under M, “You know, I never thought people would actually be like this here. It’s still weird to me.”</p>
<p>“Like what?”</p>
<p>“So unaware that they’re rich.” George shrugged, turning to face him for a moment, “Like obviously I knew. It’s not like I’ve never met a Tory before. But firstly, rooming with Wilbur, who’s like completely unaware. And there’s you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And there’s me.” Dream nodded, encouraging George to continue.</p>
<p>“I guess you know. I just don’t think you care.” George found his book, “Sometimes I can’t tell if that’s better or worse.”</p>
<p>“I hope it’s better. For my own sake.” Dream waited for George to pick the book up. Their voices were still hushed as not to bother anyone around them, or provoke the wrath of the librarian, a middle aged woman with greying brown hair tied up neatly. While she wasn’t quite a caricature, she was somewhere close to one.</p>
<p>“I hope it’s better too. I guess you could be more insufferable,” George told him, and smiled sweetly to punctuate it. </p>
<p>“I’m not insufferable whatsoever, take that back!” Dream scoffed at George, who walked ahead. Dream trailed after him and waited for George to finish checking out whatever book he needed.</p>
<p>George didn’t respond and the quiet hum of the library that morning continued droning on.</p>
<p>When they had left the building George turned to him, “You know, you really aren’t all bad. I’ve met way worse people here already,” George confessed, and Dream beamed back at him.</p>
<p>“I think there’s a charm to whatever’s going on with me. What’s the worst you’ve seen, though?” He walked with George, and there wasn’t really a location anymore as George fussed around with his bag, shoving the book in there as he walked.</p>
<p>“Well,” George began, racking his brain for something to say clearly. Their feet crunched against the ground below as they stepped over the now fallen leaves, “I was in a guy’s room one night.” He quickly looked over at Dream, “Innocent reasons. I needed some shit for class. Anyway his room was absolutely covered in, like, Nazi memorobilia. I didn’t want to ask.”</p>
<p>Dream laughed, not quite loudly but enough for George to know it was genuine, “Oh, you learn not really to pay attention to whatever’s going on in peoples rooms.” Dream explained, and they were walking so close their arms brushed against each other, “And you don’t want to question if it’s ironic or not, because then you start to feel like shit.”</p>
<p>“What’s your story there, then?”</p>
<p>“Hooked up with this girl last year with basically a Reagan themed room. I was too drunk to notice it at the time but when I started to sober up, I wasn’t sure if it was, like, ironic.” Dream was telling the story as they passed the house where it happened, he wondered if she still went here. He couldn’t remember her face.</p>
<p>“Oh, poor you.” George rolled his eyes, “That’s probably unironic, you know that? You realise that not all rich people are you, and that a lot of your peers are trying to keep the money they grew up with?”</p>
<p>“Of course I know that, but rebellion’s very in right now,” Dream supposed, really, that it was more complex than anything he could comprehend just yet. Politics, despite the fact that Dream was now an adult, legally at least, hadn’t quite hit as hard as they probably should have. This little New England bubble was keeping him safe from that for now.</p>
<p>“Do you think he’ll get re-elected?” George asked him, mild intrigue in his voice as he did so, and Dream didn’t really know what to say.</p>
<p>“I think so, yeah. I don’t want him to, but I really think it’ll happen.” And George nodded.</p>
<p>“Well, it’s not like either of us are affected all that much.” It was Dream’s turn to nod, but he wasn’t sure if there was too much truth there. There were a lot of things that he hadn’t quite faced to the fullest extent yet, but he knew they were out there, lurking. He wondered if the day he graduates it would all just hit him like a freight train and he’d be out in the cold.</p>
<p>He wondered who he would be when he finally had to face the fact that he was living in a world that wasn’t tailor made for him. He was promised from the beginning that it would be.</p>
<p>“I suppose it could be worse. I mean, we’re here.” </p>
<p>“We’re here.”</p>
<p>But still, they were almost half-way through the 1980s and though at certain points it seemed like this neon paradise, Dream could tell that there was a sense of hope that had been killed somewhere down the line. He was only a kid in the 70s, he knew that. But he saw his parents' faces get tired and weary whenever they were around. He supposed he shouldn’t complain, though. Even when he saw the news reports, everything going wrong elsewhere in the country, he could calmly tell himself that that was elsewhere in the country.</p>
<p>Grow up, the trees around him told him. Mocking him again.</p>
<p>Fuck, he was trying.</p>
<p>But George didn’t say anything. Dream knows vaguely about the UK, all distant news reports on the radio. George didn’t talk much about home, sure, but it could never stop Dream from wondering.</p>
<p>This was Dream’s home, or the closest he had ever gotten to it, but he was starting to kind of forget what that word meant, anyway.</p>
<p>And the autumn leaves kept on falling beside them.</p>
<p>It was later in the month when things progressed further.</p>
<p>“Okay,” George announced to him after class one day, when Dream had taken far too long to pack up. It wasn’t necessarily his fault that he was slow. “Wilbur’s going to have an election party, thing. When it happens. Do you want to come and explain what’s going on to me?”</p>
<p>Dream looked up at him from where he was bent over by his bag, “You know I don’t get any of it either? I just kind of have to accept the result.” George waited for Dream to stand up before he began walking, a clear indication for Dream to follow.</p>
<p>“Well, yeah of course. I don’t think you want to touch politics with a ten foot pole. And I don’t know why Wilbur’s hosting this, because he’s not even American,” George continued on, out the door alongside Dream. At some point, George had figured out that Dream would basically follow him wherever as long as he was talking. He used this to his advantage. “I think I need someone only slightly more aware of all this there with me.”</p>
<p>“You’re smart, you should get politics,” Dream pointed out, and George shook his head in return. They walked out into the cool Fall. It was the 24th. Dream, acknowledged, vaguely, how close that the election was getting. How close he was to getting his hopes up, and then having them fall. He betted, really, it would be a landslide, just to hammer home how bad things were going to get.</p>
<p>“I get British politics, mostly. Anyway, just be there,” George was headed towards his own dorm, and it was raining lightly. Dream put his hood up. “It’ll give me someone to talk to.”</p>
<p>“You can’t talk to Wilbur?” </p>
<p>“God, not at social events. Everyone clings to him. I never know what to say when I talk in a group.” George explained. The sky was grey that day, this dark grey that was almost foreboding, and Dream thought to himself that this could totally be a pathetic fallacy. Maybe if he kept looking he’d find the central motif.</p>
<p>“You know that’s how you met me? With a group of people, and Wilbur.” </p>
<p>“You’re different.” George shrugged, and he didn’t really mean much by it, Dream was sure of that. But oh, God, what a thing to say. </p>
<p>It was strange, definitely pretty strange, how quickly George and Dream had familiarised themselves with each other. Not quite like old friends, they still dedicated a lot of time to learning new information about each other, like it was a game. But there was a certain level of trust and comfort built up over the month or so they had been talking.</p>
<p>This is what Dream wanted, wasn’t it?</p>
<p>“Oh, speaking of social events. Are you going to the Halloween thing?” Dream asked, watching George as they walked side by side. </p>
<p>George gave the question a moment’s thought, “I might be working, to be honest. But I was probably going to go at some point in the night. I feel like you kind of have to go to these things. You?”</p>
<p>Dream nodded, looking over to the woods where it was supposedly going to be held this year. He heard a few years back there was animal sacrifice, but he didn’t believe that. He heard so much.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Sapnap’s been told to go by someone in one of his classes, so he likes to have my moral support.”</p>
<p>“Well, I guess you have to go then,” George hummed, “If I end up going, I’ll come say ‘Hi’. I know you’d get upset if I didn’t. My presence is obviously what’s keeping you going.” And it tended to be sometimes, even when Dream didn’t want to admit it to himself. Questioning some of that stuff was unnecessary, and Dream was enjoying having a friend for now.</p>
<p>“Oh, you know me so well,” Dream grinned when they eventually reached George’s dorm. He realised he had just trailed after George like some puppy, and he then continued to realise that he didn’t really mind that. “I’ll leave you here. I’m sure you’re extremely busy.”</p>
<p>George paused, as if he was thinking about disagreeing, spending more time with Dream. Although George and Dream tended to spend time together, they never ended up in George’s room without Wilbur present. They didn’t spend time alone in private. It might’ve been odd. I could very well have been odd. Dream did his best not to think about it, not to contemplate too hard.</p>
<p>George looked at him for a long moment that felt like a short hour, and then looked at the door, and then back at Dream. The trees were swaying in the wind. George nodded.</p>
<p>“I’ll see you in a couple of days, anyway.” George said to him, his voice seeming quiet in tone but not in volume. Dream nodded in affirmation.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah. Who else am I going to bother in class?”</p>
<p>“Who else.” George agreed, starting to walk for his door, “And I’ll let you know if I’m working on Halloween.”</p>
<p>The door closed behind George when he stepped inside and Dream looked at it for perhaps a moment too long, lingering there when he had no right to. Then he kind of cursed himself out, contemplating why he even felt like he had to have a right to be there. It was just a door. That’s all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That Saturday, Dream was leaving his room to see something scrawled onto the board outside it. </p>
<p>‘WORKING :( SHOULD BE FREE BY 11.’</p>
<p>This time, for the first time in a while, he knew that the message was for him. He cleaned it off of the board and started to think about how long George could have been standing outside his own door. Then he asked himself, once more, why he even cared about such a thing. </p>
<p>When he reentered the room, Sapnap looked up from their desk. “So who’s your date?” He asked, clearly having seen the message before Dream did.</p>
<p>“Not a date,” Dream argued back, going back to his bed and laying atop the sheets, neatly made for the first time in a while, “It’s George. He was letting me know if he was going to that Halloween thing or not.”</p>
<p>“Okay, so a date?” Sapnap asked again, and Dream didn’t even honour him by tearing his eyes away.</p>
<p>“Totally a date.” Dream turned onto his side, maneuvering as easily as he could in his shitty twin sized bed, “I can’t wait.” His tone didn’t waver. </p>
<p>Sapnap went back to what he was doing, but not before deciding to be as ominous as possible, “By the way, a couple guys in one of my classes are,like, gravely ill. You should be careful, I don’t want you dying on me.”</p>
<p>“What life threatening disease is this?” Dream asked, setting the book down by his side.</p>
<p>“It’s a cold. Again, don’t catch it and die. It would be a bit of a pain to sort out.”</p>
<p>“I promise I won't.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But like the prophet Sapnap must have been by that point, Dream began to notice he was feeling a little bit like complete and utter shit as the week went on. </p>
<p>It was on the Monday of all days, which was pretty awful all things considered anyway, when Dream realised he was beginning to feel somewhere from mildly ill to completely terrible. Dream can’t really recall exactly which he felt at each point.</p>
<p>All that he knew was that at some point, somewhere on that dreaded Monday, his head started spinning and he realised maybe he shouldn’t have actually decided to go to class that day. As soon as he realised he wasn’t getting better, and the third person that day had told him about the fact he looked physically green, he decided it was best that he head back to the dorm.</p>
<p>And that’s how Dream spent the rest of the week in bed with a plastic basin on the floor in case he threw up and couldn’t make it to the bathroom, and nothing but a Coke bottle by his bedside.</p>
<p>“I’m telling you,” Sapnap had told him, whilst he was helping Dream out, “Drinking soda is better when you’re ill. It helps you feel less like throwing up,” And Dream wasn’t even sure he believed him, but he’d take anything then. “You better remember this whenever I’m sick.”</p>
<p>“You’re only doing this so you’ll have someone to look after you when you get ill?” Dream asked, a faint smile playing on his lips. Really, he wasn’t sure how he got so ill. It wasn’t like he was around the people getting sick in Sapnap’s class.</p>
<p>“Of course. I always have ulterior motives,” Sapnap teased him.</p>
<p>In retrospect, Dream probably had the flu. He had been told once, when he was a kid and when his sister was coming down with the flu, that you know you’ve got it when you wouldn’t get up to pick up a hundred dollar note on the ground. Dream wouldn’t move, during those first couple of days, for any money in the world, honestly.</p>
<p>He was in this constant state of feeling too warm, and then too hot, and then warm again. The noises that surrounded him didn’t tend to help, because there seemed to always be someone screaming whenever Dream just wanted to sleep for a decade or so. Whenever he dozed off, someone always decided to slam against the wall, or call out something stupid whilst they passed by his door.</p>
<p>Dream had also forgotten completely about Halloween until it actually came. He had been reminded that morning by Sapnap, who had helped him out immensely by personally telling all his professors about Dream being out of commission. </p>
<p>“Shouldn’t you, like, move me out of the room? In case you catch it?” Dream had asked Sapnap, who only shook his head.</p>
<p>“I don’t get sick. You’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>Evidently, he was right.</p>
<p>Regardless, when it was eventually Halloween, Dream was filled with a strange sense of dread because he knew that meant everything would be a little louder than it usually was, because of course at a school like Snowchester, Halloween was basically the only holiday people actually cared about. </p>
<p>For most of the other holidays, save for he supposed Valentine’s day with was treated with apathy at best, </p>
<p>But he was sure, at this point, his head could block anything out.</p>
<p>Oddly, though, he wasn’t bothered by the fact that he was going to be missing out on all of that. There was a strange sense of relief to be had there, actually. God, maybe it was the illness, but Dream felt as if he was starting to just get really boring. He didn’t want to feel like an old man when he had barely left his adolescence. He didn’t want to get old at all, really.</p>
<p>But still, when he heard early in the evening, between drifting in and out of consciousness the excited murmurings of those who lived in rooms around him, he was glad to just pull his sheets around him further and edge closer to the wall. He wasn’t comfortable at all, he still felt horrible, but he at least felt happy that he didn’t have anywhere to be tonight. He could just lie there.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Sapnap had announced to Dream, who rolled over to look at him, “I’m going out tonight. Unfortunately, I can’t be your nurse forever. If anything goes wrong, scream loud enough and someone will come get you. Or drag yourself out of bed.”</p>
<p>Sapnap carelessly dumped his bag on his own bed, it landed with a thud as it hit against the wall slightly. Sapnap paid it no mind. </p>
<p>“That’s fine by me,” Despite rolling over onto his bad arm, which was aching a bit now he was ill, he couldn’t be bothered to take the weight off of it, “I’m just going to sleep I think, to be honest. I don’t think I have much else to do.”</p>
<p>“You’re right, you don’t. Which is why you’re not going to somehow die whilst I’m gone.” Dream mustered a smile at Sapnap. </p>
<p>“No dying.” He promised, and it was enough, really.</p>
<p> The night outside was dark already and he could tell now more than ever that they were headed into the really cold time of year. He and Sapnap had spent many years up here, getting used to the cold and the snow. Dream wished he was better at these adjustments when they’d been around his entire life. But he wasn’t.</p>
<p>The cold was still ominous, and whenever Dream heard the harsh winds he wondered to himself how the fuck he ended up here some nights. Why wasn’t he somewhere warm, somewhere he would’ve been able to cope in without twelve different sweaters. But then he was able to remember that he would’ve never ended up anywhere within his comfort zone. </p>
<p>Senior year of high school for Dream was a mess of awkward limbs, and trying too hard to be someone or something. Senior year for Dream was trying to prove himself when there truly was, at the end of the day, nothing substantial to prove. Nothing that people didn’t know by now.</p>
<p>His sister was somewhere, in some separate boarding school, too. He wondered if she would go on and follow in his footsteps of careful recklessness, that subdued rebellion. They didn’t talk often, but he supposed they didn’t have much to talk about.</p>
<p>Dream had an assignment due in soon for his writing class. He didn’t really go to that one. He didn’t know why. But now that it was on his mind he found himself distracted. It was one of the few he enjoyed, so why was he depriving himself of that? Was academia supposed to be an uphill battle all of the time?</p>
<p>In his fevery, hazed up brain he was able to acknowledge, in some kind of vague way, that Sapnap was leaving. He mentioned a name that Dream recognised but would never be able to repeat beyond that point. As Sapnap turned the light out, Dream found himself being drawn back to sleep.</p>
<p>It was pitch black outside but when Dream closed his eyes it was light again. Light as it should be. </p>
<p>In his dream he was standing in a hallway, and he kept on walking. Then he was in a hotel room and the door was locked. There was nothing to indicate that it was locked, but Dream knew. The sky outside was a bright, perfect blue and the static on the TV was green. </p>
<p>He held onto his breath, but it was no use because he didn’t need to gasp for air, not whilst he was in a state like this. The walls of the room were blue and the mattress was bare. He was just passing through. The number on the key was blurred. He knew that he was mourning something. Something was missing, but he couldn’t quite take a step back, view the whole thing from the audience’s perspective. So he waited.</p>
<p>In this poor excuse of a fever dream, he waited and waited for something to pop up and end it. He knew he had to stay there, at least until they returned from the dead to find him. Who this ‘they’ was would become a full mystery to Dream later on. But whilst he was asleep, he knew them better than anything else in existence. A small sense of comfort in these passing years.</p>
<p>He heard, distantly because his hearing was foggy in his subconscious state, a persistent knocking on the room door and he knew he was supposed to open it, he had to , he was meant to. But he stared for too long.</p>
<p>His hand lingered on the door knob, although he didn’t even remember walking over to it and he waited. Someone called out his name. He knew when he stepped outside the door, he would finally reach the place he had been looking for all along. He would finally make it out. </p>
<p>He placed the key in the keyhole.</p>
<p>There was someone in the hallway taking Dream home. He paused.</p>
<p>And he waited too long, because when he was finally ready to unlock and open the door, step out into whatever was awaiting him, he had woken up.</p>
<p>There, however, was someone knocking lightly on the door into his dorm room.</p>
<p>“Come in,” Dream called out, voice still slightly weak from illness, and the exhaustion that came along with it. He probably looked like shit, he thought to himself.</p>
<p>The room was flooded with light from the hallway when George stepped in. He wasn’t wearing a coat, and that was Dream’s first thought. He looked cold. </p>
<p>And the light was hitting George from behind, blinding Dream slightly. He looked so much greater than he really was, looked like a deity in that moment. God, Dream’s brain was fucked from the medicine and how sick he was, and maybe it was because he just woke up.</p>
<p>“Can I turn the light on?” George asked, loitering in the middle of the room before he closed the door, and Dream nodded. George kicked his shoes off, those shitty old boots, before he flicked the switch, illuminating the room fully. The shitty bulb in Dream’s room flickered, but he had a better view of George now, and he looked less like some kind of God, and more like someone Dream wanted to never leave.</p>
<p>“You forgot to let me know you weren’t coming,” George told him, when he closed the door behind him, walking over to sit on the bottom of Dream’s bed. Dream again, realised that he probably looked to be in an awful state. Sickly, pale, tired. But he didn’t mind, not all that much, really, because George was looking at him in the same way he always did.</p>
<p>It was indecipherable on the best of days, still, but Dream didn’t mind. He liked watching it change. He liked watching George focus on something, watching his mouth fall open when he did so, liked watching whenever George listened to him. His eyes were this dark brown, almost black. As cliche as it was to point out, Dream felt as if he would fall in. Start sinking.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I’m bedridden.” He tried to prop himself up on his bad arm and tried not to wince. George didn’t notice as he looked over at Dream, “I would’ve come otherwise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can see that,” George looked him up and down. His hair was no doubt standing up every which way, because he had stopped trimming it short once he started college, and he could tell there were probably imprints from his pillow on his face, but George just smiled at him. “I wasn’t going to go, anyway. Didn’t have a costume.” </p>
<p>Dream hummed, still sleepy as he moved himself to sit up, “You probably shouldn’t be here. You’ll catch whatever I’ve got, you know?” He warned George, who only shook his head in return.</p>
<p>“No, I had whatever you have right now a couple of weeks ago. I’ll be fine. I probably gave it to you, to be honest,” George confessed, and Dream moved his leg to kick at him from under the sheets.</p>
<p>“You dick, I’ve been stuck here for days now!” Dream mustered up as much intensity as he could to go along with his voice, “Also, if you gave me the flu just by being around me, maybe you shouldn’t be working with food.”</p>
<p>“Shush. I don’t take any responsibility in that case.” George laughed softly and although it hardly eased any of the nausea or the pounding in his head, it was enough to make Dream smile back. Softly, sure, but he was still smiling, “It’ll have been someone else then. But, still, I wanted to come over and see how you were feeling. It must be bad if you’re staying home tonight.”</p>
<p>Dream shrugged, “I think the worst of it is over. Are you planning on nursing me back to health?” </p>
<p>“Something like that.”</p>
<p>Despite the fact the room’s light was now on, it still seemed dim. Dream, try as he might, couldn’t quite understand what the look on George’s face meant.</p>
<p>“I brought you soup, by the way.” George went to grab his bag, pulling a flask out, “I stole some since I was working. I figured you’ve not really been eating the best, and wanted to help. Then I spoke to Sapnap and he said you’ve been living off of a diet of, like, crackers.”</p>
<p>Dream shrugged at George in response. It was true, he hadn’t really been eating meals for the past few days, and when he did eat, he could hardly keep it down. George, perhaps a bit too nice to Dream, set his bag down and handed him the flask. </p>
<p>“You know you didn’t have to do this,” Dream told George. George just smiled, not the wide smile he reserved for whenever someone made him laugh, and not the one he used when trying to be polite in conversations with people he didn’t know. This one was different. It felt personal, like he was doing this for Dream. </p>
<p>Sometimes, when Dream was with George really, Dream felt like he was the only person actually living. Everyone else had to be roaming around these pathways like zombies, ignorant of how great things could be. But Dream chalked this up to sickness, and his mind not quite following the roads paved out for him. He was being careful. George wasn’t.</p>
<p>“I wanted to. Besides, you should be happy to see me. You should be happy to have company that isn’t Sapnap,” George pointed out and as gross as Dream knew he was right now, he kind of wanted George to sit next to him, comfort him for a little while. He didn’t know exactly why he felt like he needed it, but he did. </p>
<p>Dream didn’t say anything to express that.</p>
<p>“I guess so. He’s not exactly been doting on me, like you are,” Dream took the flask from George and tried his best to look grateful. He was, he genuinely was. But it was strange to him, still.</p>
<p>“He shouldn’t be, you can take care of yourself,” George rolled his eyes, but pulled his feet up and hugged his legs, leaning his back against the wall as he looked over at Dream. “But sometimes you have to be doted on. It was shitty when I was sick, and I didn’t want you to just suffer alone.”</p>
<p>Everything was surprisingly quiet, especially due to the fact that Dream was anticipating a lot more chaos. Sure, there’s a couple having sex next door which is kind of ruining the mood, whatever mood they’ve got here whilst Dream is in a constant state of being seconds away from vomiting, but it could be worse.</p>
<p>“I don’t mind, really. But thanks for the soup, and coming to visit.” It had been over a month since they had met, but it really felt a bit longer than that. Dream would let George in whenever he wanted, through the doorway. He’d give him a key. “But it’s probably a pretty boring evening for you.”</p>
<p>George shook his head, “No, really. I’m still not really used to being around people here. Everyone seems so,” He made vague gestures with his hands, “Far off. It still feels surreal a lot of the time.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Dream asked. “Do I feel far off?”</p>
<p>George paused and took a moment to think, “Not in the same sense. Well, a little.” George sighed, “You’re still kind of from a different world, you know? You’re just here for fun, you can do whatever you want and fuck around. I’m here because what I’m good at only makes money if you’ve got connections, or somewhere impressive to your name. I don’t have connections.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got talent. That’s something.”</p>
<p>“Talent isn’t enough,” George explained, “I mean, it’s really not. And neither is skill. I could master every single style of painting known to man and it still wouldn’t be enough.”</p>
<p>“It was enough to get you here,” Dream pointed out, and tried to smile at George. “You’ll go somewhere. I promise you will.</p>
<p>“You’re not supposed to be consoling me, you know?” George asked with a quiet laugh, “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you. You’re the sick one.”</p>
<p>Dream just shrugged, “We can take care of each other.” The night outside was no doubt insane, and people would be telling stories about whatever happened in those woods for the next couple of weeks, but Dream didn’t care. He was content.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” George was looking over at Dream, and the light flickered again. Dream knew, really, that he should be taking care of himself. But caring for George? That was so much easier. He wasn’t able to read him just yet, but he was sure it’d be easier than reading his own emotions. It had to be. </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Dream nodded. “You said, just there, I wasn’t far away in the same sense. What did you mean?” Dream queried and George looked as if he genuinely didn’t know, struggling to find words for anything going on in his head.</p>
<p>“Sometimes I’m not sure where you are.” George confessed, voice quiet like they were back in the library, like he was scared that talking too loud would let the world know. “I don’t know you well enough, really, to comment. I’m not used to you yet. But sometimes when I’m around you I can tell you’re somewhere else.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be sorry.”</p>
<p>It was, honestly, a lot considering they hadn’t yet attempted to dig past the surface of some natural familiarity they had with each other. Dream wanted to know everything about George, really. He wanted to know the name of his hometown, and the worst night he had ever had. But there was still a barrier. He couldn’t ask that. He wouldn’t.</p>
<p>George was looking at him and seriously, Dream thought, he probably looked as if he died of the plague several days ago. But George was here.</p>
<p>“I honestly like you Dream. I like being around you.” George admitted, again, “You’re not completely different. You’re still pretty unaware, and sometimes when you talk I can tell that you’ve never lived a life where anything is out of your reach. But I’m sure you have some rich boy trauma to justify it all.”</p>
<p>Dream chuckled, “That’s for therapy.” Dream didn’t actually go. He had a therapist back in Florida who his parents sent him to whilst he was there, but he wasn’t much use. Dream figured that at least.</p>
<p>“Okay, fine, but you’re cool. And you’re a lot more normal than a lot of people here.” Dream grinned at that.</p>
<p>“I’m glad to be at least slightly normal,” Dream knew he wasn’t, really. He knew somewhere that the way he had grown up wasn’t the way everyone else did. Maybe surrounding himself with the people who did, everyone else who went to Swiss schools and owned mansions in France, just did further damage in allowing Dream to continue to live that lie.</p>
<p>“It might just be because I know you,” George began, his foot tapping against the bed, “But you seem a lot more human. And you’re less judgy, which is nice. Like, no one’s said anything direct to me, but it feels weird when everyone talks about what they did over the summer and you can’t say that you spent yours working, like, three jobs to try and get any money at all for coming here.”</p>
<p>George, from what Dream knew, was somewhere between working and middle class. The small snippets of information that Dream had been told, about the financial aid and having to work, still felt so personal.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” George murmured when he finished, going quiet again, “Sorry, I really need to stop ranting to you.”</p>
<p>“No, I like hearing you talk.” Dream shook his head, “Even if it’s just about how much you hate the people here.”</p>
<p>George laughed, soft and familiar, and Dream felt in his chest that he was a lot closer to home than he ever thought he would be.</p>
<p>“Well, I don’t hate everyone here. You already know you’re fine,” He hummed, “And the other people who are, like, in the same position as me are pretty cool. Just a little pretentious.”</p>
<p>“You’re not pretentious at all?” Dream asked.</p>
<p>“No. I don’t think I’m, like, cultured enough to be pretentious. Even here. Everyone’s into stuff I’ve never heard of,” George shrugged, “I know enough to get by.” </p>
<p>“You know far more than that,” Dream argued, “Seriously.”</p>
<p>“Stop complimenting me, Dream,” George hit his leg lightly from over the quilt.  “I’m not here for that.”</p>
<p>Then why was he here? What was his real reason? Dream wanted to know, but Dream would never ask.</p>
<p>“What should I say instead?” Dream asked, and George pondered. The bed creaked at the slightest movement.</p>
<p>“Tell me about Florida. Where you came from.” George instructed him, and Dream stopped.</p>
<p>“Only if you’ll tell me about England.”</p>
<p>“Deal.”</p>
<p>Dream wasn’t exactly sure when George left, because he was asleep when it happened. It was before Sapnap returned, though. </p>
<p>Yet still, in the hazy fever dream he had that night, he was in his house in Florida.</p>
<p>The walls were painted blue, like the last time, and there was still something wrong. It could have been eerie, and it probably should have been, but instead it felt so distinctly comfortable. There was a voice in the distance still, outside of his bedroom door.</p>
<p>Dream knew who was on the other side. </p>
<p>As Dream slept through the night, the memories of the conversation he had just had would fade into a vague blur. In some confusing mess of details, maybe he forgot what was really important. Or maybe he didn’t.</p>
<p>He could open the door if he wanted to, step outside and face the light.</p>
<p>He could.</p>
<p>Dream slept on.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>comment your thoughts if you want. again, any inaccuracies were for the sake of plot (and my convenience).</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this will optimistically be updated weekly, but if not then every two weeks. thank you to my beta, yummymeal, who has also been coping with the entire process of me writing this and is like 60% of the reason why i actually did.</p><p>feel free to comment with any thoughts! i'll absolutely get back to you.</p><p>i'm <a href="https://didntstand.tumblr.com">didntstand</a> on tumblr if you ever need to find me</p></blockquote></div></div>
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